


Spinning Madly On

by dalniente



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Gap Filler, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-07 07:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20305459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalniente/pseuds/dalniente
Summary: One-shot, Roxanne's POV. Takes place shortly after Metro Man has his run-in with the death ray...how did Roxanne react to that? Who drove her home?





	Spinning Madly On

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a song by the Weepies. I thought, hey, we see a little of Megamind's reaction to Metro Man's death, but almost none of Roxanne's...what happens with that?

Roxanne expects her phone to ring any second, all the way back to her apartment. The routine usually runs like clockwork: she's kidnapped, it's televised, she's rescued, _boom:_ calls from Mom. Mom, who always _says_ she tries to wait until Roxanne is safe at home, but there are almost always missed calls and voicemails and texts waiting for Roxanne to shake off the last of the knockout spray. Because God forbid Roxanne have any time to think or process on her own.

Today's conversation is going to be unpleasant. Loud. Metro Man dying definitely qualifies as 'told-you-so' material on her mother's part, and Roxanne isn't looking forward to it _at all_. Not right now, not today. She's two steps from screaming just thinking about it. 

_And to think, all these years, I've been sticking up for that blue psychopath!_  
  
On the other hand—you know _what_, on the other hand, _fuck it_. So much for sticking up for him. As soon as Linda calls, Roxanne is going to tell her you were right, yes, yep, I should have listened to you. You win. You were right all along. 

That'll show him. Asshole.

…Except it won't, really, because he probably doesn't know about the thing with Roxanne's mom. The only thing it'll hurt is Roxanne's pride. 

Ugh.  
  
At least Minion is silent as he drives her towards her apartment—Megamind stayed back at the Lair. Good thing, too; Roxanne is pretty sure that if he'd come along for the ride she would have killed him, or at least tried to. Right now she's huddling in the corner of the passenger seat, arms folded tightly across her chest, staring blankly out the window. 

And at least Minion didn't mess with the knockout spray—she'd let him blindfold her despite her pointing out she already knows the Lair is somewhere in the warehouse district and he needn't bother. He'd insisted ("They're going to be after Sir more than ever, now, so please, Miss Ritchi, please just wear it? Just for a little?") and it's hard to say no to Minion, especially when he wheedles like that. She actually _likes _Minion. So she'd left the blindfold on for five minutes before reaching up and pulling it off and throwing it over her shoulder into the back seat. 

Her phone is in her hand. It's going to ring any minute now.  
  
It doesn't.  
  
The silence is heavy, too heavy, and Roxanne sends a quick glance at Minion, but he either doesn't notice or won't look at her. She punches a button on the dashboard, hoping for radio, but the CD turns over instead and the electric guitar that blares out makes her jump. Then she turns to look slowly at Minion. "Seriously?" she says, and winces a little at how scornful she sounds. Then she decides that she has every right to be scornful, so she jerks her head at the speakers, where the guitar busy whining before it kicks into the main part of the song, and lets her tone drip with derision even though she isn't even sure what there is to be derisive _of_. "AC/DC? Even in the car?"  
  
He doesn't look at her. "You're surprised?"  
  
She blinks, then snorts, but she isn't laughing, not really. "No. I guess I'm not." And the guitars are roaring and the drums are thumping and it's—it's too much, it's too much like everything Megamind always always is—and she can't _stand _it, not today. She punches the button again, sends them into silence as abrupt as the music had been.  
  
A couple minutes later, Minion clears his throat. "So, you. You don't like hard rock?"  
  
_It wasn't supposed to be a conversation starter_, she thinks, scowling. She wants to snap, but ire with Minion is unfair. As much as she wants to yell at him, blame him for what happened, she knows she can't, not really. After all the years she's spent with the two of them, she's well aware Megamind is the one behind all the schemes and Minion is more or less just along to make sure he doesn't accidentally kill himself doing something moronic. 

So she sighs, but keeps her tone flat. "I'm fine with hard rock," she says. "Just not...not right now. I can't right now,” she _doesn't_ want to talk but ah, hmm, this is interesting: she can't shut up, “and if I push another button I think I might fire a missile into the car in front of us, which is sort of tempting, because I'm pretty sure it's going ten under the speed limit. _Why _are there so many buttons?" 

She finishes her sentence and then sinks her teeth into her lip before she can start another one. She doesn't want to talk, she doesn't want to be talking, she _wants _to be home so she can—just. Fucking process _any_ of what just happened before her mother calls. She wants to be home so she can grieve in peace. Wayne can't be dead, he _can't_ be. He can't be. It isn't possible. He can't be dead and Roxanne can't be rambling nonsense at Minion about the car in front of them. None of this makes any sense. 

She hugs herself tighter, scootches down in her seat and ducks her head. She won't cry. She _won't_, not in front of Minion.  
  
She doesn't notice Minion studying her out the corner of his eye, and she doesn't notice when he leans forward and switches the CD.  
  
This must be Minion's music; it's not something Megamind would ever listen to, ever. The words are hopeless. And perfect for her mood right now, which she does not need. She shoves her forehead against the cool glass of the window and squeezes her eyes closed. She _really _doesn't need this, not right now.  
  
"Um," says Minion, quietly. "…Miss Ritchi?"  
  
She doesn't answer. If she tries to, if she opens her mouth to say anything at all, she's going to burst into tears, she just knows it. It makes her think of Peter, the boyfriend with whom things simply hadn't worked out, and it makes her think of Wayne, and it makes her think of the way her world is spinning out of control, and it makes her wonder where she lost track of her life and if everything is as much of a failure as it feels right now. Is Minion trying to kill her with this?  
  
_Stop-stop-stop_. She wants to turn the music off—she could hold herself together if not for the stupid music—but she thinks that if she so much as _moves _right now she'll lose it.  
  
"You can, um. You can cry, you know, if you need to. Just so you know. I won't tell."  
  
The thought of him offering to not tell Megamind something is what does it, honestly. He means it, he really does; Roxanne knows Minion well enough to tell when he's sincere, and it sends her right over the edge. Because it's just. It's too much. He's treating this like it's _real_, and that—

And that—

Her breath hitches and she curls into a tighter ball, hating the tears and hating the world and hating Megamind more than anything. She'd like to be able to hate Minion, too, but it's pretty much impossible to hate Minion. At most she's just annoyed that he can make her cry.  
  
At some point, when they're stopped at a red light, a large, gentle hand rubs her back a couple of times. Roxanne stiffens and shrugs him off, and cries harder, and focuses on hating everything.  
  
Minion pulls over. Roxanne fumbles for the door handle before she realizes they're still four blocks away from her apartment, then turns to send her very best red-eyed scathing glare at Minion. "The car's _invisible_," she fumes, outraged. "Take me _home_. I'm not walking home like this."  
  
Minion just looks at her, then spreads his hands a little. "Hug," he says. Roxanne stares at him, bewildered and angry, but he doesn't lower his hands. "You're my friend, too, you know. So. Hug?"  
  
He's at least partially responsible for Wayne's death. Roxanne knows that. But he isn't really to blame, not _really_, and he's being nice, and Roxanne has come to regard him as sort of a friend. And she _does _need to cry and she _does _need a hug, and she knows Jo is covering for her at the news station and so won't be available until much later in the day, possibly not until night. But she can't do it. It would be too weird, too much weirdness on a day that is already far too weird. She wraps her arms around her shoulders and leans away, shaking her head.  
  
"No hug?" says Minion, and Roxanne nods. She can't begin to fathom why he looks so uncomfortable at her refusal; she'd feel _more _uncomfortable hugging him than not, and surely he's just offering because he's being nice. Then he tentatively reaches out a metal index finger, but he isn't pointing at her – the gesture looks more like he's telling her to wait. "Finger hug?" he asks, and now she catches the note of uncertain desperation in his voice. "All of the emotional support, none of the contact?"  
  
She coughs out a startled, watery laugh. That's one she hasn't heard before, but she thinks maybe she could get behind the idea, so she lets go with one arm and pushes the tips of their pointer fingers together. Minion looks relieved, and oddly enough, Roxanne does feel a little better. Not a lot. But enough that she's able to sniff and scrub at her eyes and blow her nose on the cotton handkerchief Minion passes her. She doesn't try to hand it back. He doesn't ask for it.  
  
And her mother still hasn't called. And she doesn't call when Roxanne is finally riding the elevator up to her apartment, and she doesn't call while Roxanne is unlocking her door, and she doesn't call when Roxanne closes her door behind her. And she doesn't call when Roxanne takes her phone out of her purse and goes into her room and flings herself onto her bed, face down.  
  
Half a minute later, she's lying on her stomach and hanging halfway off the side of the bed, digging through one of her under-bed storage boxes because she's decided to screw being a grown-up: she wants Mars and she wants him _now_. Once she has him, she worms back all the way onto the bed and flips onto her side, snugging Mars against her chest and watching her cell phone, which is sitting on her pillow.  
  
It lies there, silent, for nearly ten minutes. When at last it finally rings, Roxanne's eyes are closed and she's thinking about bees. She doesn't remember how or why she started thinking about bees. She feels a little guilty—she should be carrying on and crying, shouldn't she? Not lying on her bed clutching her old stuffed dog and thinking about bees?  
  
She answers halfway through the first ring. "Go on, say it," she says. "Say you told me and I should have known."  
  
There's a pause.  
  
"…Jeez, what were you doing, sitting by the phone _waiting?_" Her brother sounds taken aback.  
  
Roxanne rolls onto her back, momentarily surprised out of her mood. "Drew!"  
  
"None other. I—we—saw the news. Holy shit, are you okay?"  
  
And the bitterness and sadness come crashing right back down. "Only always," Roxanne says, but it comes out in a whisper. It's her standard response, but today it feels like a lie. "Physically speaking," she amends, trying to get a hold of herself. She'd felt okay enough when she was lying quietly and thinking about bees, but now everything's whirling through her head again and it's all too much. "I'm…pretty shaken-up."  
  
"Yeah, I imagine. Hello, _understatement_."  
  
Roxanne forces a laugh and rubs her eyes with her hand, leaving Mars lying on her stomach. She cannot believe how relieved she is that Drew is the one who called her and not her mother. She can _talk _to Drew. "I didn't think he'd…" God, which 'he' is she even talking about? _Go through with it_, she thinks. _Die. Let the blaster go off. Be unable to escape_. Her head is spinning. 

She swallows and presses her lips together. "I didn't think," she says more slowly, carefully, "you'd be the one to call first. Where's Mom? Is everything okay?"  
  
Drew snorts. "_You're _asking _me _if everything's okay. That's awesome." Roxanne hears rustling noises. A potato chip bag, maybe? "Yeah, she's fine. I just thought, you know, after what just went down today? A big ol' argument with Mommy Dearest _probably _isn't too high up on your list of things you want to deal with right now."  
  
"It really isn't. Thank you. I owe you one."  
  
"Come visit," he says, and Roxanne closes her eyes. "You need a break. I _miss _you. I haven't seen you in, what, seven years? It's been too long. Way too long."  
  
"It has," she agrees. She doesn't go down to California very often, partly because it's so far away and travel is expensive, and partly because she always ends up fighting with her mother while she's there. At least on the phone she can excuse herself and hang up. But she does miss her family, and she and Drew have always been close.  
  
"You can stay with me," he offers eagerly. "I just got a new futon—well, it's new to _me_, and it's wicked comfortable…"  
  
"Tempting, very tempting." Roxanne sighs. "I don't know, though." She _really _doesn't want to have to deal with her mother at all right now. Linda still thinks Roxanne and Wayne had been dating, and Roxanne sees no reason to disabuse her of that notion anymore. If only because she'd say her daughter is 'in denial.' And, of course, there's the age-old Megamind debate, which is bound to come up. "How about if I pay for you to come up here?"  
  
It's Drew's turn to sigh. "You can't afford the travel expenses, you know that."  
  
"It's the same as it would be if I went down there. And I can afford it more easily than you can."  
  
There's a very brief silence, full of regret and reluctance. "I can't leave my job."  
  
Roxanne manages half of a smile. It's probably all she'll be able to manage for a long, long time. "And that's the problem, isn't it? I can't leave mine, either. Especially not now."  
  
This time, the silence is longer, and broken only by the sound of breathing. Roxanne thinks of Wayne, how serious he is in private, of two-person checkers tournaments on Monday nights and bad sci-fi channel original movies on Fridays. Of the awful karaoke he'd managed to trick her into singing. Of how he'd decorated his Fortress with all of his medals and trophies and posters, all his memorabilia, like it was somehow a reminder of who he was. Like he needed reminding. And when Drew says, eventually, "Listen, are you _really _okay?" Roxanne surprises them both with a choked sob.  
  
And then another, and then she's crying again and can't seem to stop. Because Wayne hadn't been her _boyfriend_; Roxanne hadn't _wanted _a _boyfriend_, had made it very clear that, thank you, she wanted to be left alone, please, and Wayne had been completely fine with that. He said he didn't actually want a girlfriend, either, thank-you-very-much, but as long as neither of them wanted a significant other, they might as well pretend for the sake of the public so everyone would leave them alone.  
  
"My age and never had a girlfriend that lasted longer than a couple weeks, and that was back in high school," he had said, laughing, "people are starting to wonder if I'm gay."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
"Ah-ah, you're a reporter and I wanna keep 'em guessing." And he'd flashed that stupid crooked grin of his and _winked_.  
  
He was her friend. One of her closest, almost a second brother. One of the very few guy-friends she's ever had where there was refreshingly zero sexual tension of any kind between them at all ever, and one of her best friends, and now he's gone.  
  
_Warranties are invalid if you don't use the product for its intended purpose! _Roxanne swallows hard. It seems such a waste that his last conversation was about something so patently idiotic.  
  
"No, I'm _not _okay," she finally manages. "I just lost my—my boyfriend. Megamind's actually the standard brand of evil. My world has just turned upside-down."  
  
"You don't really think that," Drew says.  
  
"No, seriously, the compass points south and everything."  
  
"Not that." There's an awkward sort of pause.  
  
Roxanne's eyes narrow. Drew cannot _seriously _expect her to stick up for Megamind anymore. She almost can't believe she dared to in the first place. "Don't presume to tell me what I think about _it_."  
  
"I don't have to," Drew says lightly, but now there's steel under his flippant tone and Roxanne already knows she took that a step too far. She had _wanted_ to take it too far; she'd thought it would feel good. "You've only been yelling it for the past eight or so years. Look, Annie—"  
  
"_Don't_ call me Annie—" Her protest is guilty and half-hearted. It hadn't felt good at all. It felt shitty. It also felt like selling out.  
  
"I get that this is a big, big shock. Totally unexpected, yes. But that doesn't mean you were wrong, and it sure as _hell _doesn't mean you get to start taking leaves out of _Mom's_ book." His tone turns to one of disgust. "I can't believe you just said that. What's _wrong _with you?"  
  
Roxanne swallows. "Neither can I. I'm sorry. But—"  
  
"Don't apologize to _me_," he mutters.  
  
"Well I'm not going to apologize to _him_, not after today, and anyway it's not like I said it to his face," Roxanne snaps, sitting up. "I'm in my _bedroom_, Drew, it's not bugged. Also, did you miss the part where _he fucking killed Wayne?_"  
  
"No, I know. I know. But you know I'm right." Drew huffs a sigh. "Maybe I'm just...you know. Too far away to really get what's going on, here. I'm still in denial, I guess. But I just, damn, I _never_ thought...listen, after it happened, was he, you know, normal?"  
  
Roxanne snorts and flops back down. "He's a supervillain. He's never normal."  
  
"Oh for pete's sake. You know what I mean."  
  
"You mean was he his usual 'cheery, bouncy self?'" Roxanne says, pouring all the fake joy-joy-joy she can muster into her tone without actually sneering.  
  
"Yeah," Drew says flatly. "Honestly now. What happened?"  
  
Roxanne sighs and tries to remember. She doesn't want to. What she wants to do is crawl into bed instead of sprawling on top of it, hide under the covers, and never come out again, because the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the world is a dark, strange place smelling of leather and ozone and smoke. "There was the explosion," she says. "Minion said…something. Megamind made some over-acted crack about getting his hopes up. Wayne came flying towards us out of the smoke." She takes a deep, shuddery breath. _There, see? Metro Man. ...Metro Man! _

She shrugs helplessly. "Same as always, really. And then—"  
  
"Wait wait wait." Drew interrupts yet again, and Roxanne stops herself just short of snapping at him. He really needs to stop doing that. "Back up. What did you just say?"  
  
"Wayne came flying towards us."  
  
"You said same as always. So everything was going according to plan." Drew is grinning through the phone; Roxanne can hear him. She frowns and rubs the bridge of her nose.  
  
"Well, it was," she mumbles. “It _seemed_ like it was.”  
  
"Okay!” he exclaims. “Okay, exactly!"  
  
"Listen, I've had a _really _long day, so if you could just tell me what you mean and be done with...” She trails off. Oh. _Oh_. 

No. Oh, no.

"The plan was never for Wayne to die," Drew tells her, and everything in her rebels. Because. That's so, so much worse. "Right? Not if it seemed like him escaping was part of the plan. It was an accident. I'll bet any money."  
  
"No it was _not_," Roxanne says flatly. "No, it _wasn't_. He's been trying to kill Wayne from day one, he just hasn't succeeded until now. He's...evil, and, and cruel, and spiteful, and...just plain _mean_. It was not an _accident_," she insists. But even as she says it, she remembers Megamind fiddling with the timer on a detonator, setting the time back when he thought she wasn't looking. She remembers that happened _twice _when Metro Man was late rescuing her. She remembers the stitches on her arm from when a brainbot caught her after a stray shot from Wayne's laser vision ricocheted and sent her falling towards fire and certain death. She remembers being kidnapped by Carnival—"Pronounced Carn-Eeeevil," he'd said gleefully—a spectacularly uninformed and unprepared villain who had decided that clowns were the most evil creatures in the universe and so dressed as one at all times. She also remembers that Wayne hadn't even _heard _of Carnival, because Megamind blasted the door off its hinges five minutes into Carnival's Evil Rant and blasted the clown off his feet without even slowing down.  
  
("_Mine_," he'd snarled, picking up Roxanne in one hand of his battle suit and poking Carnival in the chest with the other. Roxanne could have sworn she heard Carnival's ribs crack. "Not yours. And if you _ever _want to be seen again, I suggest you skip town. The lake is deep, and nobody knows her currents better than Minion and I." He had started to leave, then turned back around. "Bit of professional advice? Lose the face-paint. _Real _supervillains don't _need _masks. Welcome to the big leagues, buddy. Step up your _kibaszott _game.")  
  
She remembers the Frequent Kidnapping Card, and she remembers Megamind quite unexpectedly honoring the "get out of kidnapping free" coupon she'd requested after completing the ten punches on the card. He'd even gone so far as to drive her to her destination.  
  
But she doesn't _want_ to remember any of those things. She wants to be right. She wants Megamind to be _evil_, not quirky and weirdly territorial. She _needs _him to be evil; she needs to be able to blame him for what happened today. And she can. But…  
  
But not as much as she'd like to.  
  
"Damn him," she groans, rolling over and shoving her face into her pillow. "Damn. Three times damn." She wants to kill him. She wants to make him as dead as he made Wayne. _Twice _as dead.  
  
"I'm right, aren't I."  
  
"Yes yes, you're very smart, shut up. _Argh_." She drags the pillow over her head in an attempt to get the world to leave her alone, but that's hard to do when you're holding a cell phone to your ear. "Well," she says at last, "I hope he's happy. He's just ruined everything."  
  
"So," says Drew after a brief pause during which Roxanne fumes silently. "What's he going to do now? Do you know?"  
  
"Of course I know." She huffs a short, humorless laugh. "He'll go take over City Hall and rule the city. I've gotten the whole run-down, oh, only about a million times. Take over the city, rule the city, make the citizens his awesome little slave army. It's his life's goal. It's all he's ever wanted."  
  
"Yeah, but what's he gonna _do_ with it?" Drew wants to know, sounding more than slightly baffled. "I mean, ruling a city's cool and all, but...then what?"  
  
Roxanne pulls the pillow off her head, rubbing her eyes again. They're sore. "Dunno. I'll add that to my list of questions for him tonight."  
  
"Tonight?" Drew pulls up short. "Why, what's happening tonight?"  
  
Roxanne snorts. "Well he's certainly not going to be doing any taking-over until after dark," she points out, but maybe that's not as obvious to everyone else as it is to her. Maybe she should explain. "I mean, _if_ you're right, which I do _not_ believe—" she's lying and they both know it, "—then this whole victory caught him unawares. He needs time to prepare, time to leave everybody wondering, but he can't let it go too long or he'll lose his hold over the crowd. And for something this big?" She sits up with a sigh, shaking her head. "I'm expecting a pretty massive show. Cloud machine, music, lights, brainbots, the whole nine yards—he's going to pull out all the stops with this one, you wait and see. Drew, I need to go. I need to call people."  
  
The police, the mayor, the news room—heck, she'll even bring in KMPC's competitors. She's going to bring every reporter in Metro City to the steps of City Hall to call Megamind out. Oh, and she'll call Dwight, too—he'll close the club for this, and nobody knows more about sound systems and recording than he does.  
  
This is going to be big. Roxanne knows Megamind, and she knows whatever he's working on for tonight is going to be _huge_. And she isn't about to let the opportunity to prepare pass her by—she's reported on too many of Megamind's big jobs and been told later on that the audio is shoddy quality because the news station's recording instruments aren't equipped to deal with all his over-the-top noise, and she _will not_ allow that to happen tonight. Roxanne is going to make sure _everyone _sees _everything _that happens tonight, in high-definition video and hi-fidelity sound. Tonight, she's rolling out the big guns.

* * *

But staying mad is exhausting, and anger is difficult to maintain when she isn't putting on a front for the public, so when she returns home alone that night, she barely makes it into the elevator before her furious façade cracks. When the doors slide open, she's holding back tears.  
  
Her neighbor, Posie, is waiting outside. The little elderly lady takes one look at Roxanne, says, "Oh _honey_," and folds her into a tight embrace that smells distressingly of rose-water and mothballs. "We're all so sorry for your loss. You're a very brave young lady to go out and face all those people tonight."  
  
And how can Roxanne possibly explain that facing all those people was what had been keeping her together? Still, she's grateful for Posie's sudden appearance. She's something to focus on. "Thank you. I had to."  
  
"Such a shock to everyone," Posie says, shaking her head as she pulls away. "Everyone. Mr. Mind didn't have an answer for you, and him always so quick on his feet, did you notice? The quilting club noticed. I just don't know _what _we're going to do now." The elevator door starts to slide closed behind Roxanne; Posie sticks out an arm to stall it. "You ask me, I don't think anybody knows. Such a shock."  
  
Roxanne nods, swallowing with an effort. "It's going to be tough."  
  
"And for you, especially, poor thing! Esther—you remember Esther, from two floors up, she had her knees replaced this past spring? She's going to stay with her sister down in Fort Myers. But you know, she isn't from around here, not like you and me." Posie offers a bracing smile and pats Roxanne's arm with a crabbed, arthritic hand. "Us Metro City gals don't give up so easy! We stick it out."  
  
"That we do," Roxanne, who is tired of sticking it out and would much rather go to bed, agrees weakly.  
  
Posie nods, the picture of brave camaraderie. "And speaking of sticking it out, I've got to go to the supermarket before it closes. Got to stock up on canned goods before everything's gone!" She stalls the elevator again, then shuffles into it. "I've left a tuna casserole out by your door, it's on ice but best pop it in your fridge soon. And hang in there, honey—we're all rooting for you!" And the door slides closed and Roxanne is left looking for something to distract herself with.  
  
The collection of white ceramic dishes outside her door proves a decent distraction for a little while. Apparently, Posie's quilting club does more than just quilt—there's enough food here to feed her for at least two weeks. A sympathy card, too. The club gets together early in the day; they were probably watching the news when it happened. The thought of fifteen-odd little old grandmotherly ladies springing into action for an impromptu bake-off is enough to make Roxanne smile a little bit.  
  
But when she finally finishes bringing the food inside, finally finishes filling the nearly-empty refrigerator and freezer, finally closes her door and locks it behind her—three deadbolts, a chain, and a knob lock, not that they've ever done much good—she's alone in her quiet apartment with nothing to distract her but her thoughts.   
  
For lack of anything better to do, she checks her email. And immediately flinches; the number of unread messages defies explanation until she realizes more than half are from Hal9000 at earthlink dot net. She deletes all but one of those without reading them—the one she does read is the first one he sent, and she reads it more out of curiosity and desperation than any real desire to hear what he has to say.  
  
_Dear Roxanne,_  
  
_This is just to let you know if you need a shoulder or an ear or anything, really, you know where to find me. And, you know, my door is always open._  
  
_Love,_  
_Hal_  
  
Roxanne is impressed in spite of herself. She hadn't thought that Hal could sound so mature. But then again, the multiple emails following this one were probably all along the lines of 'but not, like, _love_-love,' because Hal is sort of an idiot. A harmless idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.  
  
And there's one from Peter Jenkins. She hasn't heard from him in a long time.  
  
_Hi Roxanne,_  
  
_I know you and I are strictly business, but I'm sorry for your loss and you're in our thoughts and prayers. Mary and I are heading to her folks' place in Ontario in the morning to sit this one out_. _In her condition, it's really the only thing we can do. The baby's due any day now._  
  
_As your lawyer, I want to remind you that if Megamind breaks his buddies out of jail, which he might do, Mr. Whitehill is no longer bound by your restraining order because we allowed it to expire while he was incarcerated._  
  
_As your friend, I want to advise you to skip town. I already talked to Mary and you're welcome to come with us. I know you've got your superiors wrapped around your little finger; you can take off work at least long enough for Megamind to forget about you. Might be good for you to get away for a bit, too, even if it’s just to take a few personal days. I'm also advising you to avoid your mother at all costs for the foreseeable future, but you're probably already doing that._  
  
_Again, Mary and I extend our heartfelt condolences._  
  
_Best wishes and warm regards,_  
  
_Peter_  
  
Roxanne shakes her head, then sends a quick reply along the lines of 'Thank you for your kind words and generous offer, but I'm staying here.'  
  
She looks at her inbox again. A new email has appeared in the time it took her to scan three paragraphs and type a two-sentence response.  
  
She doesn't recognize the sender. boomsplosion at swissmail dot com? The subject line is just "SORRY" with about eleventy-billion exclamation points after it. What the hell, why not? She clicks it.  
  
_Just wanted to say I'm really, really sorry about what happened today. I mean, I'm not really sorry about Metro Man because he was kind of a dick if you paid attention and I, personally, kind of detested him, but I know you liked him, and I'm sorry you're sad because he's dead. I mean I'm just sorry you're sad._  
  
_This is stupid, I'm not sending this._  
  
And that's where it ends. Roxanne stares at it for a moment, rereading it, totally bewildered, before clicking back to her inbox and seeing another email from boomsplosion, the subject line of which reads, "OH MY GOD JUST DELETE THE LAST EMAIL DON'T READ IT" followed, once again, by tons of exclamation points. It's ridiculous, and she probably would have been laughing her head off at any other time, but right now she's just very tired and has no idea what to make of anything anymore.  
  
_Oh holy shit, I am so sorry. That was not the sort of email to send someone who's grieving. I meant to hit "delete" but I hit "send" instead. I am a complete boob._  
  
All Roxanne can do is blink at it for a while. She's mostly confused and also vaguely irritated, because she has no real way to tell if the sender is sincere or just messing with her. Also, she's never heard anyone refer to themself as a boob before. Not in real life.  
  
Shaking her head, she logs out. She's had enough for one day, and it's time for her to do what she's wanted to do since ten o'clock this morning: crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and _stay there_. And try not to think about Wayne, and fail.  
  
She doesn't bother brushing her teeth. She also doesn't bother showering. She does manage to strip down to her underwear and shrug into the massive tee shirt that she'd stolen from Wayne because he'd washed it until it was too small for him. He was a pretty good not-boyfriend, all things considered. The tee shirt hangs to her knees.  
  
Yesterday, she had had the perfect life. Entertainment, excitement, a great career, and a good friend who was a decent not-boyfriend, too. Today she's entered some awful alternate universe where nothing makes sense, where evil wins, where invulnerable men get blown up and killed, where a police barricade isn't enough to stop a man and a fish from taking over City Hall. And worst of all, she has no idea how to get back to _her _world, the safe one where everything is okay and Wayne is still able to lose at checkers.  
  
She thinks of Wayne, and cries, and the world spins madly on. 


End file.
